


The Secrets Forever Hides

by Oaklin



Series: Forever Everything [66]
Category: Monteregie Wrestling Federation, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Gratuitous Physical Contact, Holding Hands, Hugs (?), Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Poor Attempts To Act Cool, Smoking, Swearing, Wrestlers And Their Split Personality Disorders, i hope public bathrooms don't gross you out, obligatory Kevin Steen warning, something vaguely resembling fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: The trials and tribulations of being way too cool for pants, and living a life far less awesome than anyone will admit.(this fic assumes that Sami used to wrestle under the ring name Stevie McFly, and that they are two iterations of the same character, shown in slightly different spectrums)





	The Secrets Forever Hides

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> Alright. So, history lesson time. Once upon a time, a very long time ago, Little Sami was even more of a tiny baby than he is in this series, and there are rumors that he wrestled under the name 'Stevie McFly' (yeah, I know) in a promotion called Federation de Lutte Quebecoise (or, FLQ if you must know the Wrestler Brand Shorthand) back in 2002. He also wrestled in a few other places, MWF (Monteregie Wrestling Federation) for instance. Now I know you are busy reminiscing about Back to the Future, but pay attention to my story. The connections I'm drawing here are tenuous at best, admittedly, (Generico wore a mask and is RETIRED, and Stevie had a BASEBALL CAP for christs sake) but bear with me on the believability of these TOTALLY RADICALLY DIFFERENT PEOPLE being the same individual. This here be fanfic, I can link together multiple wrestler personalities if I want :|
> 
> (in all seriousness, this is way too self aware for fic, I think. Also, it's from Stevie's perspective, and he seems to be having some sort of existential crises, and Kevin is predictably not helping. So, prepare to be mildly confused ^.^)

The lighting in the musty room is so bad that he has to wait for his eyes to adjust to the gloom before he even feels comfortable moving farther into the room. When he can see properly, he shuffles awkwardly over to one of the stalls, contemplating entering, before immediately dismissing the idea.

Would be _way_ too weird.

So, instead of going into one of the stalls he just kind of...

Loiters around outside of it.

Like a weirdo.

Feeling like a creep, he sighs. Flailing an arm out in a gesture of agitated, adrenaline fueled impatience, all he really ends up doing is getting ashes and smoke _everywhere_. Eyeing the lit cigarette tucked between his fingers dubiously, he glances around for an ashtray.

Which he probably should have found before he started trying to smoke in the bathroom.

Whatever.

“The fuck are you hiding in the bathroom for?”

He looks up, his lips curling up involuntarily at his surly companion, watching the other man stomp through the door. Kevin sniffs disdainfully at him, swerving away from the stall he is leaning against, instead hopping up on the chipped counters around the single sink. Kevin doesn’t look at him, opting to press on the soap dispenser, creating a little soap river in the stained sink.

“Not hiding,” He says in reply to Kevin’s question, wincing a bit and readjusting his hand as he accidentally burns himself.

Kevin glances up, looking him up and down for a minute before casting a doubtful look at the cigarette.

“How many of those have you had?”

He shrugs, because he doesn’t really want to look Kevin in the eye right now.

“A few.”

“How many is a ‘few’?” there is a dangerous amount of ire in Kevin’s tone, and it makes his back straighten reflexively. He does look up now, meeting Kevin’s carefully passive eyes, not even a trace of the aggravation that lurks in his voice.

He sighs softly, reaching a hand up to run his thumb absently over the bold, bubble-lettered ‘McFly’ embedded in the fabric of his snot yellow t-shirt. Shaking his head, he flicks ashes onto the stained concrete floor and occupies himself with rattling the copious amount of bangles he has adorning his wrist.

“Like, six or seven. Something like that. Anywhere from ten to fifteen. You know.”

He waves vaguely around, the bracelets chiming obnoxiously as he drags his arm through the movement. The light glints off them, sending colorful patterns across the floor, making him smile despite his companions annoyance. Kevin doesn’t seem annoyed at the present, however. Kevin’s eyes are following the sparkily light show spilling across the floor as well, an oddly soft look in his eyes as he watches.

Which.

Is weird.

Sort of.

What is happening?

“Kev, buddy? You alright?” he asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Kevin doesn’t answer immediately, just stares at the floor, then tears his eyes away and leans back against the wall behind him.

The way the fading sunlight plays across the contours of Kevin’s frame is more fascinating than anything that he has ever laid his eyes on. He plays with the idea, albeit briefly, of raising his arm, jingly bracelets and all, and seeing how the glittering prismatic light bouncing off of the jewelry would look cascading across Kevin’s body. He resists, mostly because Kevin finally ( _finally_ ) speaks before he has really even let the thought fully form.

“Right, okay. No more fucking sugar for _**your** _ dumb ass today. Bouncing off the walls more than usual. Also, the fuck did you start smoking?”

For some odd reason, when Kevin speaks, he finds he has a hard time concentrating. He looks at the ground, scuffing his shoe across the dirty floor and making another vague hand gesture, that, perhaps predictably, does not satisfy Kevin.

“I like it. It’s relaxing.”

God, would it **kill** him to **_not_ ** try and placate Kevin at every opportunity?

For _goodness_ \- **gods** \- **_goddamn_ ** sake.

Yeah. He shouldn’t be trying to stammer out excuses to Kevin.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

That gets a raised eyebrow, that has him burning to open his mouth and-

He doesn’t even know. Explain? Explain what?

“Don’t look at me like that. You wouldn’t understand.”

Well.

Fiddlesticks.

Er. Fuck.

Yeah.

He raises the half burnt cigarette to his lips, taking a rebellious pull, eyeing Kevin as he does so.

Jerk. Just trying to-

(oh god)

Kevin is there in a instant (or has it been longer than only a few heartbeats? he honestly can’t tell at the moment) thumping him forcefully on the back, slamming his balled up fist into his bruised back as hacking coughs drive the air from his lungs. He leans over without a thought, their rib cages pressing together as the closeness forces Kevin to stop hitting him quite so hard. He can practically feel the smug satisfaction rolling off of his friend in waves, though he doesn’t say anything, just continues to slap his palm against trembling muscles.

Slowly, he regains control of his breathing, drawing in steadier breaths as the smacking against his back relents, until the violence is no more than a gentle caress. Kevin doesn’t move his hand, just rubbing slow, almost tender circles into sore back muscles as air returns to his burning lungs.

At least Kevin has not made fun of him yet.

“So, relaxing, huh?”

Ah.

Spoke too soon.

He throws the cigarette away from him, realizing after a moment that they are no longer standing, leaning against a stall. They somehow ended up seated on the bathroom floor, tucked together up against the wall. Frowning, he pushes the cigarette butt away from them with his foot, watching it slide across the floor with disgust, trying his best not to lean into the physical contact even as it lulls him into contentment. Inhaling sweet, clean air (that is not really that clean or sweet) he turns, side-eyeing Kevin with a wry smile.

“Okay. You got me. I was hoping that it would make me look cool.”

That earns him a snort, one thumb of the hand rubbing against his back brushing across a bruise and making him wince. Either Kevin notices- because his thumb brushes over the spot again, only this time much more gently, the touch feather soft with a tenderness that he sometimes forgets Kevin is even _capable_ of- or Kevin didn’t notice at all and it is just a coincidence.

He leans over, pressing backwards into the touch as he bumps the side of his head against Kevin’s, getting half a nuzzle out of it. Settling back, he reaches out and threads his fingers through the half-undone laces of Kevin’s boots, his digits anxious for something to do with themselves so that he doesn’t end up reaching over and putting his hands where they don’t belong.

Not that...

Or-

Well.

Never mind.

“Nothing could make a dweeb like you look cool, especially not calling yourself ‘Loser McDorkNerd’ and changing your gear to ‘John Cena’s inbred cousin’.”

And. Well.

Fair.

“Okay, but I did alright on the hair, right?”

“You look like an idiot.”

“What! You like my hair!”

“Hat hair doesn’t suit you,” Kevin sniffs disdainfully, raising his other hand an reaching over, grazing the top of his head, his fingers momentarily immersed in copper puff.

“It’s a nice hat. I like it,” he says defensively, batting Kevin’s hand away from his hair only to trap the other man’s thick fingers, intertwining their digits together like the fingers of his other hand are still tangled in Kevin’s laces.

He feels better, more grounded, when they are wrapped up together like this.

It feels-

**_rightbesteverythinghome._ **

“You look fine without hats or ma-”

He turns at the choked, abruptly aborted sentence, searching a face that hurriedly turns away from him. Contemplating the way Kevin cut himself off with a growling snarl, he decides that it is best if that particular avenue is left unexplored, at least for now. The intelligent thing to do would be to drop the subject and let Kevin find the words himself, on his own time.

Still.

He is an idiot after all.

Curiosity killed the cat, etcetera.

“We all have things we hide behind, Kevin.”

“ _You_ don’t need to hide-”

“Neither do **you**.”

Another snort, this one accompanied by a snap of Kevin’s neck, the words coming out of his mouth sharp and blazing with pent up something.

“You are not the only one keeping secrets behind your facades, **_Sami_**. You would do best to **remember** that.”


End file.
